Big Daddy "V" For Victory!

Ladies and Gentlemen of the Facebuster Nation, it has been a long four months. There were times (mainly during Great Khali matches) that it seemed our nightmare would never end. There were times (whenever Batista touched a microphone) that we looked to the heavens and begged for an end to the atrocities of war. There were times (usually involving someone or other writhing in the clutches of "the Masterlock") that we wished we had never started this fucking blog at all, and wondered if we could ever again look on mainstream pro-wrasslin' product without feeling shudders of PTSD and Survivor's Guilt.

Well, we can. 'Cause we won. And we will keep winning.

A brief moment of exposition for the newer recruits to le armee Facebuster: Back in August, renowned shitheel Michael Cole inadvertently slandered the legendary Bruiser Brody. Acting on an undeniable moral imperative, the Facebuster Editorial Staff moved to declare war on the entire WWE organization, sparking a hellish ordeal of scorn, bluster, and Hornswoggle matches. Demands were issued, progress was made, but many doubted that we could ever acheive True Victory In Our Time.

Fuck off, doubters.

Has it occurred to any of you that it's a bit odd that the injured and suspended Edge was just allowed to waltz back into WWE title contention? Did you notice that he's currently providing at least a solid half hour of top-shelf entertainment every week? Did you watch the video montage of Edge and Vickie Guerrero frolicking in the park and say, "That's so much like my dreams, it's scary?"

We did, too. And that's because we LITERALLY HAD THAT DREAM, two weeks before it aired on Smackdown!. We also dreamed about there being three Edges, and y'all know how we feel about Big Daddy V. It's almost as though... (dare to say it) the WWE has been monitoring our dreams for story ideas. Finally.

All this was purest conjecture until last Friday's Smackdown!, when Rey Mysterio's entrance montage included the typical "pan across the glowing faces of the fans" shot... and there I was. Apollo Spas, circa 1997. Clad in a vintage Ramones T-shirt, shrugging off my ridiculous Echo & The Bunnymen trenchcoat, laughing and clapping for my wrasslin' favorites (photographic evidence pending, as we try to figure out how to work our computers, but feel free to come over to my place and watch the tape). No shit. As a token gesture of humility, defeat, and submission, the WWE bigwigs pulled some footage of me at a Tacoma Dome RAW taping and spliced into their latest, cutting-edge (har?) efforts. The war is over. The Facebuster Meme will be allowed to infect the WWE corporation at all levels. Victory is ours.

TNA? You're fucking next.